


Crushing

by EpiphanyWisps



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Clenching, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missionary Position, Premature Ejaculation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:55:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EpiphanyWisps/pseuds/EpiphanyWisps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel falls. He's expecting to maybe be reborn or simply lose his Grace, but is granted neither and nearly dies after he crashes to Earth. After another fight Dean and Sam separate for a while. It's Sam who finds Castiel broken, bleeding, and dying in a meadow in the middle of nowhere. He saves him. And then some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crushing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [innerglow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/innerglow/gifts).



> Started this as a dedication fic to the wonderful sammyxinterrupted on Tumblr, who is amazing. They had answered an anon who had asked about kinks/positions for Sastiel and of course I got inspired. I didn't expect it to become this long of a story. Chapter 2 is basically going to be pages of smut and lusty goodness.

Neither of them can remember exactly how this started. There’s no exact pinpoint in time where they can look back and say, ‘This is when we fell in love’. It was gradual and happened purely by circumstance as far as they’re concerned.

It should feel wrong on more levels than they can count; the boy with the demon blood and an angel of the lord together in such an intimate relationship. They’re both sure that even demons wish to look away, that even the angels cast a veil over their eyes against the seemingly wrong glow of their bonding. Sam had been meant as Lucifer’s vessel. In the process of his life his skin had been sullied and his blood had been tainted. Castiel was pure and ignorant still to much of humanity, burdened by the light of holy revelation and with the intention for nothing but good things. Once, Castiel had thought himself Dean’s angel. He thought their bond deeper, unbreakable by any standard.

But then Sam came into his life in a way he hadn’t noticed he could before. Neither of them ever expected to fall into each other’s lives as they are now, entwined. But it happened still. Both are equally as grateful.

And it started when Castiel fell. Literally. It had been some time after leaving the Winchester brothers in search of his own ambition; his own desires and goals. But by then most had already gone so far off track that it had him impossibly confused. He’d sinned. He’s conspired against heaven—slaughtered his own kind. And he still wasn’t sure why.

Falling was the only logical next step. He’d thought he’d prepared himself for when the time came to purge his wings and Grace. He resolved that the Winchesters would be fine without him, would survive well enough without his guide any longer. He assumed he might fall as Anna had so many years prior, falling to Earth as energy and light before taking the form of an infant, human life. He suspected he would lose his memories just as she had and be forced to live out a human life. It didn’t seem that bad of a thought, actually soothed the flecks of worry rising within his heart.

But then the day finally arrived when he’d returned to heaven for his judgment. With all those faces staring at him, the light of his brothers and sisters boring holes inside his very Grace and right through the thin skin of his vessel, he realized that he would probably never be prepared enough for this. He had felt fear, then; an awful fear.

He was thrown from heaven’s gates and into a jarring reality, wings ripped from his back and Grace pulled from his system. He’d expected, somewhat, to be accompanied by some of the angels who had taken his angelic remains. He’d expected more, somehow. But he was wrong. And fear gripped him once more as he fell, realizing for the first time that no one would know. Not the Winchesters, not anyone.

He panicked, his thoughts too fast for him to think straight as the world rushed by in agonizing detail, the sky tipping and the wind a maelstrom in his ears. He knew it was a very slim chance, but he prayed that the Winchester boys would be waiting for him at the spot in which he was destined to land, wherever it may be. He prayed he would still be in in their vicinity of the world, at least. He prayed he might be thrown into the ocean where it would cushion his fall and numb his senses. He prayed for so many things, but it was all just wishful thinking.

None of it happened. He’d done the exact opposite of everything he’d imagined, falling from the sky and crashing to the ground good enough that it broke most of his bones and fractured both his wrists and ankles. By how much pain was ricocheting throughout his head he probably had one hell of a concussion too. Blood leaked from his nose, mouth, and ears. His eyes watered. He moaned out in pain, stopping short when the strain caused his ribs to grind and his lungs to seize up. It hurt to breathe. It hurt each time he tried to move his limbs or wiggle his fingers and toes. It hurt to cough. He was dizzy, his vision covered with dark blotches and dancing lights. Even the smallest bit of light hurt his eyes. His stomach hurt too, but he couldn’t place why.

In short: everything hurt. ‘ _Punishment’_ , he thinks through his stillness, trying to gain his bearings. By human standards he was lucky just to be alive.

Lucky to some, maybe. But he doesn’t feel that way. He’s alone after the fall; laying in a grassy meadow somewhere he can’t place a name to and bleeding out, barely breathing and fearful for the first time in his existence that this could be his end, that he will die alone and in pain and desperate for a comfort that he can’t have. He vaguely registers the sound of wind sweeping through blades of grass and of trees in the distance. He reminds himself somewhat morbidly that it’s likely to be a wild animal approaching him, sensing his disturbance over the land. He might very well end up being a meal someday soon. And even though he cannot move to check what the sound actually is the sound soothes him. He falls unconscious shortly after that, praying once again. He prays that if he must meet his fate here that he won’t awake in the act of it. He prays for a gentle passing.

A week rolls by and by some sadistic miracle he remains alive even without the intake of food or water. He grows restless and isolated with each passing of the moon and sun overhead, still in the same position and still unable to move or call for help. It does horrible things to his mind—feeling much like being stuck in limbo at the very brink of death. He has to wonder if maybe he’s already passed and simply hasn’t taken notice yet, his human existence shattered by the fall and this is all that he is now, all he’s destined to remain. The thought hurts. It makes his chest hurt worse.

A day or two passes, and his condition worsens. He’s deathly pale now and woozy; caked in a delicate mix of dried blood and reoccurring or worsening bruises, fresh blood when he can’t stop coughing, another tear in his body when he accidentally moves and his broken bones shift. There are some areas that hurt more intricately than others and he has to wonder if it’s because some of his bones have sliced through his skin. He thinks it’s highly plausible even though he can’t look to assess his situation, though he wants to. He surmises later that it doesn’t matter.

He’s malnourished and dehydrated and quite possibly hallucinating by the time a shadow is cast over him, blocking out most of the moonlight. At first Castiel thinks it’s just another animal that’s come to sniff his rotting carcass, but after a few minutes of squinting past his haze and trying to look up he realizes it’s a _human_ shadow. And not only that, but it’s _Sam_.

And so it began.

Sam had been the one who found him there in that bed of grass and soil. He’d come alone with a backpack strapped to his back and a water bottle in his hand. He was the one who let Castiel drink that day; the one who had called for help, and the one who had stayed with him until he was carefully lifted and carried away on a stretcher to an awaiting ambulance. He hadn’t followed Castiel after that, leaving the former angel alone and dazed and afraid at all the sounds and lights inside the rushing vehicle he was in.

He kept coming in and out of consciousness for a long while as voices kept calling out to him, trying to reach him still when they arrived at their destination. He couldn’t answer any of the questions they asked him. He could only stare at the world around him and wince at how fast it rushed by. It was a lot like falling, and it scared him.

He sleeps in intervals, on and off, throughout the next few days of extensive surgeries.

Then he’s placed in his own room near the recovery ward once he’s deemed stable enough, where he opens his eyes to find Sam is waiting for him. Sam, and no one else. Castiel can’t deny he feels a little disheartened, wishing he could see Dean as well. But he’s mainly just relieved to have some company at all.

Two more weeks pass where Sam stays and the nurses pester him about it, something about visiting hours and family being discussed just outside his door. That is, until Sam claims Castiel ‘Winchester’ as his brother, throws them a story to evade questions and refuses to leave his side. It takes a few long conversations and more thorough false background stories to explain just why Sam can’t prove his credibility as Castiel’s brother, but somehow Sam makes it work. Castiel catches the end of one of their conversations, something about their parents being dead and of Castiel having no one else in the family but his two brothers. Sam is good to sound wrecked. The nurses don’t bother him after that.

Sam keeps conversations going when Castiel is awake, keeps him talking even though the medication makes him loopy and impossibly tired. He talks mostly about books and college and how pissed off he is at Dean for hiding important things from him and doing things behind his back. He talks a lot about trust.

Castiel hardly replies to anything Sam says or asks, but he doesn’t think Sam minds it much. He tries to keep a smile on his face and a hand to pat at the former angel’s arm, often asking how he feels. Castiel would try laughing until it hurts his chest, always with the same stony reply of, “I’m not dead yet. I suppose that’s a good sign.” Sam always agrees.

Castiel wonders why Sam is still with him here now, why he’s still watching over him and keeping him company. Castiel doesn’t feel much like he’s worthy of the attention. He wonders if Sam will prove his worries right and leave while he’s asleep, leaving Castiel to wake up alone. But Sam remains.

Many of Castiel’s days are wrought with pain and drugged by painkillers and sedatives. He sleeps mostly through the day, not eating much and not reacting well to whatever he does try to eat. He rises sometime after noon in pain and shivering. He spends the end of the evenings with Sam telling him stories from his past while he’s stroking his hand down Castiel’s naked arm, reminding him that he’s going to be alright. Everything will heal, he tells him. He’ll feel better. It just takes time. Sam has yet to ask if Castiel’s truly Fallen yet, if he’s human or just been downgraded. He has a sneaking suspicion it’s the worse of the two.

Castiel finds himself wondering one day if, had Dean been the one who found him, would he have done the same for him as Sam? Would Dean sit with him in a cold hospital room and waste his time to talk to him, tell him mundane childhood stories and comfort him when Castiel’s in too much pain to think about anything else but how much he’s hurting? Would Dean soothe him with gentle strokes over his arm and equally gentle words at his side? Castiel just looks to Sam sometimes, something deep and painful throbbing inside his chest, and thinks ‘ _no_.’

It’s only Sam. He starts thinking though, that it’s alright. Maybe he doesn’t need any more from Dean than he’s already given him, being wrong in assuming the only time he could feel worthy is if Dean allows it. Sam comforts him now, and it feels entirely different. Sam is enough.

A month or so later when they finally get the ok to leave the hospital Castiel is given crutches. He’s still got his scars and deeply rooted gashes that are healing on their own, skin sewn together with stiches and thread. He looks nowhere near completely better, but at least he doesn’t look like he’ll die anytime soon. Sam has to lie to the lady at the front desk just to get her to let them leave, because she’s adamant that Castiel needs to be off of his legs as much as possible for a while. She tries calling a cab but Sam stops her. He lies about Dean coming to pick them up, lies that he’d called only a minute ago and is waiting just outside for them in the parking lot.

They leave and Castiel walks awkwardly with his crutches in hand and steps unsteady, still not quite understanding how to properly use them. Sam helps him as best he can.

They’re on the side of the road about a mile from the hospital when Castiel finally has to stop. He doesn’t verbally complain, hasn’t the whole trip, but he can’t fight off the sour look in his expression anymore. He’s breathing heavy and sweating a little with exertion. The pain in his legs is making it hard for him to walk anymore. It’s actually radiating through his feet, pin pricking all the way up to his hips with each step that he tries to take. He’s nearly in tears by the time Sam notices he wants to stop. Castiel wishes suddenly that he was back in the hospital with all that glorious pain medication and drowsy under warm covers and a hand to rub the tension from his wrists. He misses the ease of that now.

Sam wants to help, but all he’s got for him is about twelve thousand dollars in medical bills now in his coat pocket and a two hundred dollar prescription for all the pain medication he’s supposed to be taking―both in which he doesn’t have the money for. He’d dumped all his hunting gear, credit cards included, back in the impala before he’d claimed he was done and left. The only thing he kept was his clothes, his phone, and some money to get by on. He couldn’t afford anything extra right now unless they want to sleep on the streets.

He kind of regrets leaving the credit cards though, because Castiel could really use some help.

Sam ends up putting his backpack down long enough to get Castiel onto his back, where the smaller man latches on gratefully. It takes a few good nudges and careful placing to get him situated because of his injuries, but when they’re good to go Sam picks his backpack back up and steadies himself. Castiel tries to carry his crutches and hold on to Sam too but Sam stops him, taking them from him and carrying them in his empty hand. It’s a little awkward but Sam manages, telling Castiel to hold on tight and not to fall as he’s walking.

He’s got enough money in his pocket for maybe a week in the cheapest motel. It’s the only money he’s got right now. So he gets them a single room with a single bed. It’s easier and with the money they save they’ll be able to afford another week’s stay.

Once they’re inside Sam lays Castiel on the bed and tends to him immediately, putting some ice in a rag and tightens it closed with a rubber band to put over Castiel’s swollen ankles. He cringes while he’s dressing him down for sleep; there are blotches of angry, dark bruising all up and down his legs, and even his knees look swollen. He instantly regrets not carrying him from the moment Castiel’s feet first stepped out onto the floor.

He tries to make up for it in helping Castiel into his more human transition. He cooks for him and helps him eat, fixes him warm baths and helps him wash up. He even helps him to sleep when he’s in too much pain to do so on his own. Sam continues his familiar chant of comforting words and repetitive arm strokes to lull Castiel to sleep most nights, as he’d done in the hospital.

He doesn’t complain when he falls asleep in a chair with his head over his arms on the side desk, night after night. He doesn’t complain even though his neck starts aching. He says nothing and Castiel feels fragile and guilty for taking up Sam’s time like this, for taking _his_ comfort. He unloads to Sam about it one morning when he’s feeling particularly down about Sam not being able to relax, looking very tense and unrested. Sam assures him that he’s fine, that he’s slept in worse conditions. He’s not worried about himself; he’s just trying to make sure Castiel feels alright. Castiel’s the one who’s had the near death experience. Sam tries to coax him into worrying more about himself even though he knows Castiel’s never been programmed to have a need for it. He asks him to try, because he’s human now. And humans have needs. Just because Castiel used to be an angel doesn’t mean he can’t be cared for.

The former angel feels something warm beginning to blossom within his breast.

Sam ends up finding a mediocre job at a local restaurant waiting tables and cleaning dishes as a temporary way to earn money while Castiel rests inside their shoddy motel room. In the weeks that follow Sam makes enough money for them to eat and continue to stay there, enough to buy himself new clothes for work and some for Castiel if he wants. The ‘meals’ Sam makes are cheap and most of them microwavable but Castiel thinks they’re perfect. They sit well on his stomach and he’s thankful for Sam’s help. He doesn’t need anything overly extravagant to be comfortable. The simple things that Sam does for him is more than enough.

Sam ends up taking their clothes money to buy the pain medication Castiel still desperately wants, surprising him with it one day after work. It’s fucked up to give pain medication as a gift and probably even more fucked up for the other person to be overjoyed at getting it but that simple purchase makes them both equally happy. Castiel sleeps well that night, and Sam feels his heart beat with affectionate relief. He places a kiss over Castiel’s forehead before going to bed himself, still in that chair and still not minding that it’s uncomfortable.

Dean starts calling in intervals, texting when Sam refuses to pick up. Once, Castiel tries to answer the phone. Sam stops him, nearly crushing the phone to the floor when he tosses it. He’s not mad at Castiel. He just doesn’t think Dean deserves to even know that Castiel is alive after what had happened. Neither of them is ready yet. And Sam’s still mad at him over all the back-stabbing. So, Sam continues to ignore Dean and tells Castiel it’s a better idea that he does the same, at least for a while. Castiel does, but only because he’s got no other choice. Sam promises him this won’t be a permanent thing, that he’ll take him to Dean eventually and admits that they’ll probably end up hunting together again. But Sam needs a break. A big break. He needs to clear his head.

Castiel overhears Sam talking to Dean over the phone a few nights later, in the bathroom, possibly telling him the situation. They fight about it well into the night before Sam finally threatens to toss his phone in the garbage. He hangs up shortly after that and saunters back on into the main room. Castiel pretends to be asleep even though he can feel Sam’s eyes on him. He can’t help but feel like a burden between the two.

It’s not even a week later that their relationship begins to shift and Castiel wakes up one morning with a slightly alien but dire need for comfort. It’s a Saturday and Sam has already left for work by the time Castiel starts to feel a familiar sense of dread and lonesomeness wash over him. He tries to will it away but it surrounds him instead, reminds him like a blanket of doubt that he’ll probably never find his way back up to heaven and that he’ll always be stuck human and alone, that Sam will leave to return to his brother and he himself will be nothing more than a forgotten third wheel. He tries his best to keep away from those foreboding thoughts while he goes through his morning routine. It takes him roughly five hours and he’s limping a bit by time he’s taken his pain medication. He sits back down on the bed, feeling exhausted and extremely sore. The painful thoughts return.

He’s still sitting there with his head tipped toward his chest when Sam opens the door. He’s got a small bag of groceries cradled to his chest and a gallon of sweet tea which he sets aside on the table. Castiel doesn’t say anything, even when Sam’s asking him how he feels and if he’s had any trouble with walking today.

Sam sets the bag on the table too, beside the tea, and walks over to where Castiel is sitting on the bed. He bends down just enough to lift Castiel’s face with feather light fingers at his jaw, asks him if he’ll tell him what’s wrong. Castiel doesn’t respond. He looks broken inside, hurt and afraid with everything he’s become and everything that might come to pass. So Sam leans forward and wraps his arms around him so that Castiel has his face pressed against his chest, with Sam squeezing as much as he thinks the other can tolerate. He whispers a litany of comfort to him, calm and quiet, carding his fingers through still damp hair and breathing out a disheartened sigh when he feels Castiel’s body begin to shake. Sam doesn’t have to look down to know that Castiel is crying.

A week later Sam takes Castiel out for the first time since his fall to buy new clothes. He’d originally planned to only be out for a few hours to keep the majority of the strain off of Castiel’s legs. Somehow though they end up coming back to the motel late in the evening with more than they bargained for and nearly a full day’s shopping under their belt, but Castiel is happy with his array of t-shirts, button ups, undergarments, sweatpants, slacks, and hoodies. Sam can’t possibly be mad.

They move around the subject of ‘Dean’ very carefully even though Castiel is eager to know why Dean hasn’t tracked them down yet, why he hasn’t suddenly appeared in their motel room asking questions. He knows Dean. It’s not like him to let his brother wander too far for even this long without trying to pull him back. Castiel is both puzzled and afraid, because he doesn’t know why Dean isn’t here, and on the flipside if he was—what if he took Sam and decided Castiel was no longer useful to them? Castiel likes to think Dean would never do something like that, but he’s been proven wrong before through the heat of arguments. It’s not like he’s looking for any type of relationship; friendship is nice to have, but he doesn’t have to have it if Dean is still mad at him—if Dean won’t allow him it. He just doesn’t want to be alone.

Those thoughts slowly begin to tear into him and nestle inside somewhere where he can’t claw them out. He sinks further inside himself when Sam is gone, pondering how Dean might react to seeing him now. He’s wronged both the boys, lied to them, and almost gotten them killed. He’s possibly done worse against the world, and even worse against heaven. He deserves to have his Winchester friends mad at him and he wouldn’t hold it against either of them should they decide to hold a grudge and leave him be to his own devices.

Problem is he can’t stop fearing the ‘what if’s if they actually did. He asks Sam later, once his shift at the restaurant is over and he’s walking through the door, if Dean is still mad at him. Sam seems taken aback by the sudden question, furrowing his brows. He tells him that no, Dean isn’t mad. Not permanently. He just needs some cooling off to do on his own. Castiel silently wonders if that’s the other part of the reason Dean hasn’t come to find them yet. He asks Sam then, if _he’s_ mad at him.

He was for a while, he admits, but he doesn’t hate him. Things happen. He reminds Castiel that even people who sin deserve to be forgiven; even people who murder. Everyone deserves an equal chance. Yes, you might sin. But it depends on the choices you make afterward that guide you, and if you choose to lead a better life than the one you had the day before you’re probably already forgiven. Sam thinks Castiel has already been punished enough by becoming human. He doesn’t see why the former angel can’t relax and recover now; get to enjoy life a little even.

Castiel can’t help but reach out and draw the younger Winchester into a hug.

The next few days are spent with Castiel mostly wrapped in Sam’s arms in random embraces when Castiel feels the strange need arise. Sam’s not afraid to give him the kind of bodily contact he’s craving, and Castiel is more than appreciative. He starts having nightmares about falling, about crashing to the Earth and feeling each of his bones snap and rip through him, the feeling of his muscles tearing loose; how hard the side of his head hit the grassy soil and how blinding the light was behind his eyelids when he’d first realized he wasn’t actually dead. He awakes almost every night to the sound of his own rapid breathing and dampness at his eyes, his body mind-numbingly cold and aching and his night clothes drenched in sweat.

He has trouble breathing around the tightness in his chest each time he wakes up, but Sam is always up in seconds and helping to guide him through it every time. Sam pulls Castiel’s closest hand to his chest after the first few nights and lets him feel the calm beating of his heart, telling him that he can breathe fine and to only pay attention to what he feels under his fingers. Castiel tries, trying to focus on the steady beats of Sam’s heart just under his fingertips. He sighs shakily. They repeat this like a ritual almost every night when Castiel is heaving himself awake in a blind panic, thinking for sure his body is still broken and bloody and stuck alone in that meadow. They both lose sleep over it, but Sam doesn’t mention it. Not even after he’d nearly walked into oncoming traffic on his way back from the restaurant one day.

One night while Castiel’s got his hand over Sam’s heart and Sam’s sitting at his side on the bed Castiel turns, something singing inside him he hadn’t noticed before. An unfamiliar emotion swallows his consciousness before he’s able to detect it and it overwhelms him. He’s already tilting forward for a hug, a bit breathless and yearning for Sam’s comfort. Sam catches his body and pulls him, somewhat awkwardly into a hug. They sit like that until Castiel’s calm enough to pull back. Castiel doesn’t remove himself completely though. He stares, searching Sam’s face and Sam’s eyes and bathing in the overwhelming warmth of his selflessness. Something warm is blooming in his chest again as he’s thanking Sam, once again for helping him. Sam smiles, and Castiel returns the gesture.

Neither of them move for the longest time but it isn’t awkward at all. They keep their eyes even and atmosphere soothing. Eventually Sam starts rubbing circles against Castiel’s arm again.

Castiel finds himself leaning forward again, only this time it's much slower. He’s not aware of anything until he registers the feel of his lips over Sam’s and by that time he’s too caught in the moment to even register his own shock. The touch is light and unsure and Castiel closes his eyes after a few seconds, beginning to feel very self-conscious about it when Sam doesn’t react. He’s about to pull away when Sam places a hand over the side of his face to keep him there. When Castiel opens his eyes Sam is staring right at him, nipping lightly at his lips and placing a few sweet kisses over them. There’s no sign of rejection and somehow Castiel thinks he should have known.

Castiel doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel anymore, but as he’s looking into the softness in Sam’s eyes he can only pray that whatever it is they have won’t end. Sam feels comforting and right against him, and that’s all that really matters to him anymore; all that his life has become. It’s just one big ring of Sam encasing him in warmth and Castiel graciously accepting. It’s much better than laying stranded, alone and dying. Sam is kindness and full of hope, light and forgiveness when Castiel had thought the very words had all but forsaken him. Castiel enjoys being close with him. He enjoys _this_.

Sam deepens the light-hearted kiss, pressing his lips more firmly against Castiel’s and opening his mouth around them. He’s also smiling, which Castiel finds he does not understand.

Their eyes are locked while their lips move against each other, sliding and pressing and feeling. Nothing is rushed. Sam moves his fingers to spread wider across the side of Castiel’s face to make it easier to tilt his head while he’s filling the entirety of his lips with leisurely, charming kisses. He can feel Castiel relax against him more and their eyes close almost simultaneously to the feeling of warmth beginning to spread around them.

Neither of them speaks, just touching and kissing and drowning in each other. Sam lies down against the cushion of the pillows and the comforter, being mindful of the other’s still healing injuries while he’s guiding Castiel to rest over his chest. Castiel still has bruising where the worst of his injuries had been. Sam makes sure not to press down on them while his hands roam. It’s not too soon after that Castiel breathes a contented sigh into Sam’s mouth, unconsciously inviting him in. And Sam goes, keeping Castiel’s lips apart and delving in with tongue and teeth.

Sam teaches him the best way to fit his lips over someone else’s, how enjoyable it can be to take it slow and keep it simple, and how amazing it feels to have someone’s tongue gliding against your own. They kiss for what feels like hours before Sam is pulling away and Castiel is breathless. Castiel is left feeling hazy and sedated with delight and something else he hasn’t got a proper name to and Sam can help but smile. The edges of Castiel’s mouth are a nice shade of red now, probably mirroring what he believes his looks like right now too. Castiel gives him a questioning look and Sam chuckles softly, kissing him again. And just like that the former angel feels like his chest is going to burst.

They spend the rest of the night on the same bed with Castiel on his side and Sam at his back, arms tucked around his waist and legs bent in behind Castiel’s knees. He leans his head against the pillow and pulls Castiel as close as he can to his chest, breathing in the scent of coconut shampoo and hand soap and something else that he can only guess is Castiel. He lays a hand over Castiel’s chest, placing a kiss to the back of his neck before settling in for sleep.Castiel falls asleep with a smile on his face and a warm, content sensation he’s never felt before.

Nothing really changes between them as time passes but they do kiss a lot more than maybe either of them expected. Castiel is usually the one to initiate it and Sam is more than happy to comply. Sam still faithfully takes care and helps Castiel when he needs it, no matter the chore. He’ll cook something quick and easy and bring Castiel's favorite brand of sweet tea that he’s grown an affinity for, and never forgets to put ice in it. Castiel thanks him for everything, sometimes twice even though Sam tells him he doesn’t need to. Castiel insists, and Sam usually quiets the praise with a long, sweet kiss.

It’s all going nicely until Castiel trips and bruises his ankle one day while he’s trying to get out of the shower. He’s embarrassed about how he must look sprawled awkwardly on the floor with one leg still over the side of the tub and the shower curtain that’s laced around him when Sam rushes in, face full of worry. He’s not terribly hurt. He’s more embarrassed that he managed to fall at all. Sam makes no remarks, just helps him up and dries him, helping him to put a fresh pair of underwear on and a light pair of sweatpants before he’s laying him back on the bed. Sam doesn’t ask how it happened when he fell, and Castiel is obscenely glad. He doesn’t have the courage to tell him he’d been touching himself and miscalculated how soft in the knees he’d be afterward.

He spends many of his days after that in bed with a generous amount of mortified self-loathing. It’s easier to tolerate when Sam’s occupying the space next to him or lying down with him, even though it does remind him sometimes of his little ‘incident’. They watch television specials or movies sometimes and Sam might even make them popcorn, bringing them drinks and makes sure Castiel is comfortable. So yeah, it’s not so bad. Castiel finds himself thankful that the majority of his injuries from his fall from heaven have already mostly healed. He still aches sometimes or wakes up sore, but he no longer needs the pain medication. And his scars and skin look better too, Sam having removed all of his stitches a month or so ago. A bruised ankle he can deal with for the time being. It’s better than broken bones and a bruised will to live.

Tonight they’re watching some documentary about ancient civilizations predating back to the Mayans when Castiel starts to feel a familiar kind of warmth spread throughout his chest. It’s sudden and random and at first Castiel doesn’t know how to react to it. He fidgets on the bed and finds his way closer to Sam beside him, scooting the remote from Sam’s chest so that he can place his hand there. Sam puts his hand over Castiel’s instinctively, entwining their fingers without tearing his eyes from the TV screen. And really Castiel tries to keep watching the documentary too. He tries, but there’s a need to kiss Sam that’s trying to burn its way to the surface and it’s causing him to squirm. He turns his head so that he’s facing Sam, loving how entranced he is with watching the TV. He looks peaceful. Castiel feels nothing but fondness for this moment. It’s a calm, quiet moment where he can just observe without stipulation.

A slow smile blossoms on his face as he continues to watch. When Sam finally notices him staring he’s smiling too. And Castiel says nothing, props himself up on an elbow and leans in to lay a kiss to Sam’s lips. The taste is a bit salty and sweet this time, tickling his taste buds. Sam gives him a few of his own lazy kisses, pressing affection against the softness of his lips and groaning into his mouth when Cas lays a hand to the heat of the side of his neck. Suddenly Castiel thinks he’s more than just fond of this moment. Neither of them are watching the documentary anymore.

‘Thank you’ s are placed in echoes across Sam’s lips when Castiel thinks about what might have happened had Sam not found him in that meadow, or even if he’d not cared enough to lend a helping hand. He could have turned the other cheek just as easily when he’d found him. Sam could have left him there to die in the heat of the sun with the vultures circling overhead. He could have left him at the hospital after he was sure he would be helped. And there would have been no hot showers and a variety of soft clothing, no soothing words or comforting warmth. There would have been no _Sam_.

But Sam didn’t leave him, didn’t abandon him. Sam stayed. And Sam helped, selflessly, kindly. That’s what stands out the most every time Castiel looks at Sam and sees a smile on his face, remembers how dark Sam’s shadow was under the light but how contrastingly bright his soul shines against all the darkness in his past.

Castiel thinks, _‘I should have no one, forsaken even by heaven; by my brothers and sisters.’_

But Sam makes him feel like he was _made_ to fall. Maybe this was always waiting for him. He thinks about it more and knows he shouldn’t be allowed to receive any of the kindness he’s so grateful for. By every right he should be desolate. Yet still Sam came to him, held his head above the roaring seas and kept him well and breathing even though it was not his responsibility to do so. He didn’t have to show sympathy, but he had.

And that’s what makes him special to Castiel. For all that he’s done and all he’d been destined for his heart is still bathed in the light of righteousness. His soul is true, just as warm and just as bright as his heart. Castiel decides then that Sam is pure and worth everything Castiel can ever hope to give in return for his efforts, that having been cursed by demon blood means nothing to Castiel as another being on this Earth. Sam is _good_.

Castiel’s a little afraid to admit it at first, but he thinks he’s becoming attached to Sam.

Castiel skirts around a thin wall of denial until some urges start to surface. They’re purely human and perfectly normal but the entirety of it frightens him. He hasn’t been a human but some odd months and already he feels like he’s being pressured into making some life altering decision. They care for each other, Sam and himself. But Castiel also knows that there are many types of relationships a human couple can have and he’s not sure which one they fall into. He wants to touch Sam more now, and in places he’s never before thought about. He wants Sam to touch him too. Sometimes the need overwhelms him and he ends up back in the bathroom to himself. He makes sure he’s sitting down on the commode though and waits a while before coming out so there’s no repeat of the last time he’d tried to relieve himself in the shower. Sam doesn’t seem to take particular notice in what he’s doing, and Castiel doesn’t feel the need to explain himself.

The first time Sam starts undressing him Castiel is ready. It’s not some random encounter where they see each other and suddenly tear the clothes from each other’s backs. Castiel has seen this often in some of the movies they watch together and knows that’s not the case. It starts with a shit day and ends with rude customers and heavy exhaustion. They’re both caught off guard when Sam has to leave extra early in the morning to pick up someone else’s slack and it throws Castiel off balance when he wakes up to a cold spot where Sam should have been and no message for why he’s already gone.

Castiel trips over some medical wrap he’d forgotten was on the floor beside the bed, trips and goes falling none too gracefully onto the carpet. He’s fallen on his side and mostly just knocked the wind out of himself, but the force of it has every bone in his body screaming and awake. He’s reminded of his fall in the bathroom in an entirely different way and spends a whole hour just lying on the floor and pondering if he’s fractured anything, whether or not it would be safe for him to move without Sam’s evaluation first. Luckily his previously bruised ankle was spared.

When he goes to shower it takes him ten whole minutes just to get in the tub with how sore he feels after the fall. He turns the wrong knob at first and recoils, nearly falls out of the tub—again— when freezing cold water splashes over the whole front of his body. He turns it roughly a few times the other way and is rewarded with scalding hot water this time. Castiel has to slam the water valve off completely before he can catch his breath and try again. He’s completely flustered by his own incompetence by time he actually manages to find a decent temperature. He doesn’t realize until he’s reaching for his towel that he’d left it on the chair out in the main room.

He’s too upset to eat when his stomach growls a few hours later. He growls right back and rolls over in the bed, pulling the covers up over his head and attempting to block out the world. He’ll eat when Sam comes back, he tells himself. It’s not that big of a deal. He’s got no luck today. And he’s not really up for fighting through another potential disaster should he try his luck with making it to their little motel fridge and back.

He has no idea that Sam’s had a horrible day too, so when he comes back cursing under his breath and tense as hell Castiel doesn’t feel like bothering him to ask for something to eat. Sam’s in the shower before he even has the chance to ask anyway.

When Sam comes out he looks relatively better. He still looks tense but he doesn’t look ready to gank the nearest thing in sight anymore. Castiel’s sitting up by the time Sam walks over to him. He sits down on the bed near Castiel’s blanketed feet, patting them over the comforter. He apologizes for his earlier mood and sighs, explaining his day and how much he’d wished for a fire just to give him an excuse to get the hell out. He smiles then and asks about Castiel’s day, an obvious attempt to change the subject. Castiel replies with a shrug of his shoulders and decides to dance around the truth. He tells Sam that he’s had an average day; nothing special. He’d slept most of the day.

Sam moves to lie down beside him under the covers and pulls him down to rest beside him. He grabs the hand that’s closest to him and laces their fingers together, bringing each of Castiel’s fingers to his lips and kissing them. He kisses the shell of his ear, placing another on his shoulder before settling against him. Castiel turns on his side too, facing Sam. They kiss for a while, until Castiel’s heart is beginning to flutter against his ribs, and for the first time Castiel can’t help but notice that this feels different somehow.Maybe he’s simply noticing more. Sam is moving his body just slightly against his, one hand relaxing against the small of his back and pressing him close, his other hand releasing Castiel’s to play with the buttons on his shirt.

Sam deepens the kiss, tugging at his shirt more adamantly. He’s going slow, only pulling at one of buttons towards the bottom before he’s asking Castiel if he’s ok with ‘this’. ‘This’ is something Castiel knows of, but it’s not something he’d ever really considered for himself. But the desire to touch and be touched crawls back into his senses, spreads warm within his stomach and he can’t object. He repeats the corrected word back to Sam in question and frowns when Sam laughs, probably feeling a bit silly for calling it ‘this’ and not ‘sex’ in the first place. Castiel thinks Sam would be a wonderful lover. He makes sure to make Sam aware of this each time their tongues meet. The buttons of his shirt come undone, one by one under Sam’s hand.

Castiel’s still sore from his shit day but it doesn’t hinder him while he’s helping to remove his own shirt and sweatpants. And when he’s clad in only in the deep blue briefs he’d put on after his shower and his equally blue socks he relaxes on his back, this time with the comforter pulled back. He lets his gaze wander up to where Sam is, towering over him. It makes him anxious and excited all at once.

Castiel doesn’t understand why many humans feel shy or shameful while being nude. Castiel finds he likes it, has always liked it during the times he’d had to be. And now, lying down and mostly naked he’s able to relish the cool and satiny feel of the sheets shifting against his back and legs when he moves. It’s completely different from when he has clothes on, and by far more enjoyable. He keeps his body moving across the sheets any subtle way he can to feel the cool sweep of sheets, holding his watchful gaze over Sam as he’s removing his shirt, pulling it up over his head and dropping it over the side of the bed. All that taut muscle ripples under his skin, flexing under the movement. It leaves Castiel’s mouth feeling dry, though he’s not sure why exactly.

He welcomes Sam’s fingers against his skin when he comes back to him, melts under his kisses. It’s perfect and Castiel can’t help but smile against his lips. He’s human now, and he’s got nothing left to offer that’s of any real value in a hunter’s world. All he’s got left at this point to offer someone like Sam is his company. And maybe ‘ _this’_.

Castiel is more than ready when Sam bends down and drapes himself over his body, Castiel’s legs on either side of him and knees bent. He leaves a trail of wet kisses along Castiel’s skin everywhere he goes. He starts by sucking dark bruises into the skin over the heavy pulse in Castiel’s neck, moving lower to nibble against his collarbone once he’s satisfied enough by the bruise he’s made. A soft touch shifts onto his back and Sam doesn’t need to look up to know that Castiel’s hands are on him. Castiel’s running his fingers over sharp shoulder blades and pressing down just enough into tense muscles that Sam nearly melts under him, a moan escaping him. He retaliates by placing his thumbs over Castiel’s nipples and rubs in unhurried, deliberate circles. Castiel hums in approval, toes curling and relaxing inside his socks and knees bending inward only slightly. 

The fabric of Sam’s pants against his naked skin makes Castiel shiver. He likes it, but he’d much rather feel Sam’s heat instead. His voice is barely above a whisper when he mentions it, and hopes Sam will reward him by removing them. And he does, to an extent. He’s kissing down Castiel’s chest, unbuckling his own belt and removing it while he’s flecking his tongue over a nipple enough to make it hard before he moves lower, dragging his tongue over a jutting hipbone. He licks over Castiel’s stomach, dipping his tongue inside his navel and feeling a shiver bristle across Castiel’s skin. Sam places countless kisses along his skin, a good portion of which is marred with scars but never ugly. His lips linger over a spot against his ribs where there’s a discolored, jagged scar and kisses more tenderly, smoothing his hand over it before he’s pulling back.

He’s unzipping his slacks and standing up, pulling them down and stepping out of each pant leg with grace and ease. He’s nude underneath, something Castiel can’t say he expected, but something he’s glad he gets to see. It’s strangely exciting. Sam is beautiful without clothes, too, all tall muscle and finely stretched with slightly bronzing skin. He’s still flaccid and Castiel’s not exactly a connoisseur when it comes to human genitalia but, if he had to make a comment, ‘ _well endowed_ ’ is the first to come to mind; all long and thick even now without the blood flow to lift it. He can’t imagine how it must look when he grows hard. Castiel knows he’s going to find out though, and that’s enough to send a little of his own blood rushing south.

Sam must’ve caught him staring because he’s grinning like a cat now. He picks up his discarded shirt and places his dress pants neatly over one of the desk chairs, shirt on theseat before returning to where Castiel is, where his soon to be lover is restless and already half erect. Sam licks his lips and starts lower this time, on his knees between Castiel’s legs. He runs his hands up the sides of them, feeling Castiel shiver but say nothing. He’s watching as Sam crawls closer until he’s bent with his tongue running a line up one of his thighs. Castiel has to look away then, nearly chocking on his spit when his tongue slides a little closer inward. He swallows thickly, breath hitching when Sam’s hands rub a path from either side of his groin beside his erection, thumbs pressing down a little closer around his balls when his fingers retrace the path. Sam continues rubbing with his hands, never quite touching his erection but pressing enough that the fabric pulls against it. His face inches closer, hot breath ghosting just over a hipbone where he latches on and sucks a bruise to. Castiel can feel his body tighten for a quick second and a warm wet spot form where the head of his cock is pressing against his briefs.

The skin stroking continues idly, Sam’s hands moving the dark fabric a little each time his hands slide against them and it’s not long before the head of Castiel’s erection starts to peek through the band of his briefs. Sam places a quick kiss to it, hesitating over the warmth around the slit before lifting the fabric to cover it completely again. He continues rubbing but he makes sure to keep Castiel’s underwear from shifting this time, going slow when he needs to. He wants to make sure they can ease into this, use this as foreplay and show Castiel what it means to be blissfully teased.

Castiel’s hips start to lift a little in waves each time Sam’s hands slide up. It’s enough to cause a shallow friction; a combination between his hips and Sam’s hand that brings his erection and his briefs together against each other. The moan that rises up in Castiel’s throat is unexpected and Sam wants to swallow it whole. Castiel is already repeating to himself that he wants to do this more often, and they haven’t even really done anything yet. _Forgive me Father for I have sinned. And forgive me Father for I shall sin again._

Sam’s not really into the whole concept of dirty talk, Castiel finds this out quickly. He likes to communicate more with how he touches, sending his partner subtle messages and sensual nuances each time their bodies connect. Castiel finds really likes it. He’s able to concentrate more on how Sam feels while he’s touching him, how he’s making him _feel_.

Sam takes hold of the waistband around Castiel’s hips and lifts them a little higher. The fabric is pulled taut against his genitals now, hugging him snugly and outlining everything perfectly for Sam. He keeps his hands pressing Castiel’s waistband against his hips that way, tight, and Castiel groans out as pressure sparks pleasure. He tries to keep a slow hump against it, thighs twitching and sides clenching. Sam waits, preferring at first to watch Castiel thrust against himself. His own cock jumps when Castiel arches his back and cants his hips down under a breathless whisper, causing the fabric to pull up tighter against his balls. The fabric is straining up between them, some of it farther back slipping up between his cheeks. Sam watches that too, entranced by the flex in muscles.

Castiel breathes out Sam’s name, thigh muscles jumping and pre-cum pushing free when Sam dips down and closes his mouth around one of his balls, sucking and teasing and pulling Castiel’s briefs up even more to raise them higher. Touching himself was one thing, something exciting and mind jolting; but this, Castiel’s not sure he can handle it. There’s an almost painful knot up between his balls now, where the crotch of his briefs is bunching. Castiel thinks that maybe if he wasn’t so viciously turned on he might feel discomfort, pain even. He doesn’t though. Maybe a pinch or two when his hips decide to move on their own but mostly he just feels hot from head to toe. His mind is swimming when Sam’s mouth moves to the other side of his scrotum, still clothed and pulled up tight in his darkly colored briefs, now slick with Sam’s saliva. He’s sure Sam is leaving very distinct wet marks over his underwear. 

“That feels good,” he tries to tell Sam honestly. His body undulates against the mattress, hips fighting to push himself closer to Sam’s mouth. 

Sam chuckles, the hum of it rippling through the body beneath him. He can feel the mound in his mouth swell and tighten. He pulls back and runs his tongue over the expanse of the fabric covering his balls, nipping at a few places while he’s moving one of his hands down from the waist band of Castiel’s briefs. He cups him entirely, kneading with his fingers while he’s pressing tongue, hot and damp up the shaft of his clothes erection. Castiel’s legs fidget restlessly over the comforter. He leans his head back and heaves a shaky sigh, feeling the heat of Sam’s mouth dampen the fabric. He can almost feel him underneath too if he fantasizes hard enough.

Part of Sam really wants to get him off this way, cock still covered and without much stimulation. He kind of wants to know if he _could_ get him off like that, maybe even without any touching at all, just keep his underwear pulled tight and letting Castiel thrust until he makes himself come. The thought is tantalizing, enough to make his stomach tighten with anticipation. He knows though that he wants this to be…traditional of sorts. First time and all. And not just for Castiel but for the both of them as a couple. He makes a mental note though to come back to it on another day.

Sam uses the next time Castiel lifts his hips to peel away the briefs entirely. Castiel sighs with relief, taking note of how his cock bounces against him when he moves to help Sam slide them down his legs. They’re discarded over the side of the bed. Pearly white drips thick and wet from his slit as Castiel studies himself, taking in rather perversely how appealing his own arousal is to him. He almost starts touching himself until he realizes the situation he’s in, that it might be rude to do so when Sam is more than willing to help him. So he doesn’t, even if it’s a tough inner struggle to keep his hands _not_ to himself.

Castiel’s eyes are closed, tongue out and wetting his lips when he feels Sam lay flat over him. He makes sure they’re aligned hip to hip for better friction with Castiel’s face buried in the crook of his neck and Castiel’s breath falters, hitches in his throat when Sam begins a slow pace of thrusting up against him. Castiel spreads his legs wider for Sam’s body, his hands running a smooth path down the expanse of Sam’s back until they rest over the dip in his lower back, where he presses down. It makes the friction that much more intoxicating. He groans out, hips moving again to thrust in counterpart to Sam’s, their cocks caught between them.

He can feel the length of Sam harden against his groin, stiffening and filling out and Castiel’s mouth is damn near watering with the need to see how it looks now. Sam keeps him on edge though, keeping his pace to a minimum and resisting from adding too much more pressure between them. He never moves back enough for Castiel to steal a peek. Castiel eventually gives up and moves his hands back up, resting over Sam’s shoulder blades. He huffs out through the pleasure swimming in his groin and lays his forehead over Sam’s collarbone, mouthing nonsensical words against his skin. He tongues the skin there experimentally, loving the somewhat thick scent that’s radiating from him. Sam thrusts up a little harder than the last in response, causing Castiel to jolt and tighten beneath him.

Sam doesn’t stop, but he does look down to where Castiel is. He slows enough to grab Castiel’s attention so that he can kiss him, feeling how disconnected Castiel is between trying to concentrate on both kissing and what’s happening between them. Sam can hear words, feel them as they pass Castiel’s lips, something about using him and touching him and Sam’s brain can’t really handle that right now. He chokes around a moan of his own, stopping the movement altogether when he feels nails dig into the skin on his back.

“Give me just a second,” he breathes, lifting himself up. It’s then that Castiel finally gets to see him for all his glory. And he stares, wide, star struck, and hungry when Sam moves into the bathroom.

There’s a moment where Castiel is well alert, afraid that Sam’s gone in there to relieve himself as he himself often does when his body needs a release. He’s not left waiting long to panic though, because Sam comes out a little later; only now there’s something creamy and white lathered over his erection, a dollop of whatever it is also cupped in the palm of his hand. There’s a hint of coconut that fills the air around them. Castiel breathes it in, loving the scent. He knows exactly what it is.

“Sorry,” Sam apologizes. “I don’t have anything else right now, and I wasn’t about to bring the whole bottle out here.”

Castiel smiles, trying to control his breathing as Sam sits back between his legs. Castiel keeps them spread for him, lifting his hips a little when Sam brings his hands closer, making sure to keep his cock clear of anything. Castiel knows the procedure; he knows most different types of sexual encounters as he’s observed it countless times from above. He’s just never had the chance to _feel_ it. He finds himself anxious to have Sam’s cock inside him, yearning to know what it feels like to be fucked.

Sam dips two fingers into the conditioner in his hand, coating them halfway before inching them closer to where Castiel has himself spread languid and ready for him. He takes an extra moment to slather his thumb in it, rubbing in a repetitive line across his sphincter, adding more until he’s satisfied by the slide. He can feel Castiel clenching each time he touches him there, which makes him linger a little longer than he’d planned. Castiel’s hands are cupping his inner thighs, head bent towards his chest to watch what Sam is doing as he does it. He’s reaching farther with his hands when Sam uses his fingers to push inside, Castiel’s nimble fingers darting down to feel the push-pull drag of his skin around Sam’s fingers. Sam has to close his eyes for a second, breathing in deep. He’s not sure Castiel means to be this seductive, but it’s unraveling him quick.

He pulls his fingers free and urges Castiel to keep his body relaxed. He can see the excitement flash across Castiel’s face when he draws himself closer, cock in hand. Castiel pulls his legs up and presents himself accordingly. Sam leans over him and Castiel rests his bent knees against his chest, his breathing tight and anxious.

Sam’s pushing forward, the head of his cock sinking through and stretching his sphincter wide in a quick slip and Castiel makes a strangled noise, muscles tightening impossibly around him. His body spasms, and Sam doesn’t dare move in fear of hurting them both.

Sam’s not sure if it’s out of pain or pleasure because of how startlingly slack Castiel’s expression is. He’s got his eyes closed, his jaw slack and his lips parted. He doesn’t understand it until he feels the warm wetness sliding down by his hips and he looks, realizing somewhat belatedly that Castiel just came.

Sam waits, unsure of exactly how he’s going to proceed until Castiel is hooking his arms around his neck and pulling him down.

“Keep going,” he whispers, his voice lazy and overly amorous, “I still want you inside me.”

Castiel moves up and pushes his hips down in illustration, gasping as more of Sam’s cock slips inside him. It brings about a new spasm from inside him. Sam has to grind his teeth, wincing at how tight Castiel’s insides are pushing against the head of hi cock. He rocks his hips forward, feeling the heat inside now starting to suck him in rather than push him out. He shifts on the bed, canting his hips for an easier angle and thrusts again. Castiel moans out, his voice sharp and stuttered at the feel of Sam pushing inside him.

Sam keeps a slow pace, his thrusts shallow and only thrusting in deeper in intervals, trying to ease his way in as careful as Castiel’s clenching body will allow him. It’s difficult though because each time he slides in deeper Castiel tenses, his body fighting to keep Sam still. Sam can’t imagine what Castiel’s feeling, but he has to wonder. Is it still as close to what he’d felt during his orgasm?

He’s suddenly thankful for the lubrication, because without it he knows he wouldn’t be able to move at all right now. The sounds of his thrusts are slick and perverse, ending with a bit of suction. Sam nearly loses his control, his cock pulsing heavily with need under all that pressure.

“Cas, try and relax,” he manages to say. He knows that he won’t last long if Castiel keeps sucking him like that. The sounds he’s making are bad enough. “I can’t thrust if you keep yourself tight like that.”

Castiel tries, leaning his head back against the pillow and making his thoughts as distant as possible without completely extricating himself from the situation. He breathes in, fisting the sheets and heaving out a sigh before nodding in Sam’s direction. He tries not to think of how full he feels with Sam buried deep inside him or how his cock almost _curls_ inside him, tries to ignore the pulse of Sam’s heartbeat as it thrums through his cock. He focuses more on calming himself and breathing evenly.

Sam starts thrusting more fluidly, letting loose a sigh of his own at the new freedom he’s granted. Castiel is still tight and he’s not yet completely free of twitching when Sam slides up inside him fully, but it’s a start. He keeps a decent rhythm, occupying his lips with kissing along Castiel’s upturned jaw.

Soon Castiel’s sensitivity dies down and he’s able to feel without trying to crush Sam. Some of his thrusts are more forceful and they jar him against the bedpost, but it doesn’t hurt. It keeps a pleasant line of pleasure running through him and before he can feel it happening he’s half hard again. He doesn’t force it, his mind still hazy from his first orgasm. He’s ok with waiting a bit and watching Sam for the time being.

It doesn’t take Sam long to build up though after what’s happened, cock caught between the heat inside and the pressure building in his own gut. He steadies himself, gripping Castiel’s hips but trying not to press too hard. Castiel is watching him intently, pulling his face closer and kissing him. He slips his tongue inside, clenching his lower half down around Sam on purpose as he’s thrusting in almost at the same time and feeling pride when Sam lets out a strangled moan, nearly biting down on Castiel’s tongue.

Sam _does_ lose control then, pulling Castiel’s head back by his hair a little too roughly to save him from his teeth, hips snapping forward. He thrusts wild and deep, breathing heavy and moaning as he comes hard inside Castiel. Castiel mimics his cry, the hot splash of semen a welcome additive inside him. Sam’s body quakes, his hips barely thrusting but still moving sharp inside him.

Sam feels a shiver run through him, and wills his body to relax. He sits up straight and swallows to wet his throat, feeling how tight it is. He can still feel the pulse of his cock as it softens inside Castiel. He’s feeling well spent and completely relaxed now, something he’s been in need of for a while now.

Castiel relaxes his legs at Sam’s sides. He’s staring, grinning ridiculously wide up at him. “You’re quite beautiful. That was wonderful, Sam.” He knows though, that he’s going to feel this in his bones later.

Sam nods, smiling in appreciation and pulling out carefully. He makes note of Castiel’s still half hard cock and raises a brow at him. He breathes out a laugh, gesturing with his hand. “Do you want me to…?”

“No,” Castiel says, looking cheeky. “I believe I’m fine right now. Maybe later once I’ve fully recharged.”

But then Sam kisses him again and the feel of his lips go straight to his cock.

 _Definitely_ later, he thinks.


End file.
